Sometime ago when we were carefree, holding hands and writing each other notes in between the hallways of social identity, that was the highlight of our day. First love, where did you go? Something is missing in this story that I wrote of my future. Our future. I painted this elaborate portrait on a canvas, made only for you, but something is still missing. That fire, aggressive but yet tender stroke of each attempt of writing on your walls has left me embracing now, what could've been then. Something is missing......
Today, I look around and see all the memories of what we shared yesturday and know that I was happy in those pictures. But at this moment right now, I can't put my finger on it, but something is missing. I remember waking up in the middle of the night, awaiting to hear your voice and remembering every word your still voice said to me. Today, I turn back to you because I recognize that yes indeed, something is missing.
What was missing all of this time you ask? It was my first love of course....... writing!!!
BREAK THE SILENCE OF DOMESTIC VIOLENCE!!!
loved this piece!!! Writing is my first love too, and the way you write so passionately, I can tell it's yours!!
ReplyDeleteThank you #5...... writing becomes a new world for me and at an easy pace I must admit. Whenever I let the pen touch the paper..... magic happens. Enjoy your first love :-)
ReplyDeleteDeep I enjoyed reading this and looking forward to more. JC
ReplyDeleteI enjoyed this piece and can definitely connect with it. I, too, am a writer and there is something that happens when we write that is wonderful and can be such a release from our past.I share your love of writing.
ReplyDeleteThanks Dianne, I love writing and always want to write, then some days the famous "writer's block" appears and makes it hard.
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